Wielding a sword-long knife,
fishmonger Motojiro Nakata
halves a bluefin purchased at
the morning auction. Thinly
sliced and served with other
raw delicacies as sashimi,
the translucent flesh delights
the eye as well as the palate.
Japan's craving for such fare
incites relentless fishing
and concerns about dwin
dling bluefin stocks.
humans with fine sushi," the
inscription reads, "but we must
also stop to console the souls of
the fish."
T SUKIJI puts heavy
emphasis on education
to pass along essential
skills to the next gener
ation-yet another resemblance
between this place and Japan's
small towns. On any given day
there will be classes at the mar
ket on topics like auction proto
col, knife handling, or time
tested techniques for making a
spicy kamaboko, or fish sausage.
One day I happened upon a
course that had literally life-or
death implications. Officials
from Tsukiji's Fugu Harmoni
ous Association were teaching
the proper way to carve a fillet
offugu, the bulbous fish usually
known in English as blowfish or
puffer. For reasons I've never
understood-the stuff always
tastes like cardboard to me
fugu is an expensive and cher
ished delicacy in Japan. Unfor
tunately, it can also be lethal.
Enzymes in organs of the fish
are fatal to humans; almost
every year some unfortunate
diner expires in Japan after
feasting on fugu that was not
properly prepared.
Accordingly, a national
license is required for every fugu
chef. The class I saw was pre
paring candidates for the rigid
licensing exam. "I've only got a
month to go before the test," 26
year-old Kazuya Yawatagaki
told me nervously, hefting an
18-inch knife as he practiced
cutting slivers of fugu so thin
they were translucent. "There's
a written exam that lasts two
hours. The next day they hand
you a fugu, a knife, and two
pans. In 20 minutes you have to
put every poisonous part of the
fish in one pan and all the edible
parts in the other."
Another reason the people
of this teeming place see them
selves as neighbors in a village is
that everyone in the market is
bound to an upside-down daily
schedule known as Tsukiji time.
The market's workday begins
just before 3 a.m., when the
truck convoys begin to arrive,
hauling fresh and frozen fish
from around Japan and around
the world. By sunrise it is time
for the lunch break. When the
day's work is essentially done,
the people of Tsukiji sit down
for dinner and a cold beer-at
around 8:30 in the morning.
"Someone working here
might live in a nice neighbor
hood like Shibuya or Funa
bashi, but how can you have
The Great Tokyo Fish Market